Fretless
by Deathly Noted
Summary: It's Take Your Wizard to Work Day, and Harry alone is left behind at Hogwarts, without permission to participate... or so he thinks, until he finds himself in the company of Draco Malfoy and Professor Snape, who will be their chaperon for the day.


**Fretless**

-noun

1. an interlaced, angular design; fretwork.

2. an angular design of bands with a border.

3. a charge composed of two diagonal strips interlacing with and crossing at the center.

Classes were cancelled for the day, and Harry was fairly certain he was the only one in the whole of Hogwarts who was unhappy about it. Usually this role was reserved for Hermione, but as they readied to leave the common room and headed downstairs to have breakfast together, Harry noted that even she had a slight bounce to her step as she discussed today's agenda with Ron. Harry lagged behind his friends, feeling a bit sorry for himself, as he often did when Ron and Hermione went to Hogsmeade without him, only this time it was much the worse.

It was Take Your Wizard to Work Day, and in the annual tradition, the students of Hogwarts would be joining their parents or another wizard that they knew and looked up to at their workplace in order to extend their magical learning beyond the realm of books – given that the students had their parents' permission. Ron would of course be tailing Mr. Weasley at the Ministry of Magic, and Hermione had obtained permission (many months in advance, of course) to accompany him as well, since her own parents were both Muggles and could not fulfill the role. Ron insisted that Harry come with them, but it was not to be had; although Professor McGonagall looked regretful in telling him so, she had made it clear to him time and time again that students could under no circumstances leave the grounds without their legal guardians' permission, and unfortunately no one could substitute for that role, neither her, nor Mr. Weasley, nor even Dumbledore.

It was a glaring and ridiculous loophole, Harry thought, that he was denied access to so many privileges at Hogwarts based on a technicality, but with great effort he had resisted the urge to take up an argument with McGonagall on the subject. That would only add yet another detention to the lengthy queue Snape had already established for him, and so he resigned himself to his fate, not gracefully but with great bitterness and brooding. Hermione, as if sensing this forbidding atmosphere building behind her, looked back at him and started a little, quickly changing the subject she was on with Ron to Quidditch, which she knew to be a safe way to get Ron rambling for a good half hour about his favorite players or some such. She nodded as Ron spoke, her expression encouraging but not particularly interested, and glanced back at Harry again as if apologetic. He did not quite meet her eyes but half-attempted a smile in her direction in order to reassure her that he was all right, though his lips remained tight and he gave up the effort, opting instead to ignore her somewhat spitefully.

Breakfast was lavish as always, an array of pancakes, fruits, and syrups, bacon, sausage, and eggs, juices, seltzers, and milks. Harry helped himself to some pancakes, pouring an excess of syrup over them in his state of negligent annoyance, and Ron inhaled three times that serving while Harry still picked at his first, occupying himself by attempting to separate his syrup into two distinct groupings with his fork. They always re-converged, as if by magic, or perhaps by some force of nature that inextricably connected atom to atom as surely as it did person to person.

He did not notice, or perhaps forced himself not to notice, when Ron and Hermione excused themselves from the table, and by the time he looked up the last of the students were being ushered out of the Great Hall by some of the professors, being chided that they were going to miss their Portkeys. The food was beginning to clear itself from the tables, sinking into the tablecloth as if by quicksand and falling into the kitchens below. As if glad to escape his mangling, his plate of pancakes dropped suddenly out of sight, leaving Harry sitting stupidly with naught but a sticky fork in his hand. After a moment he set that down upon the table as well, reluctant though he was to lose the distraction. Looking about himself with a hostile sort of sulkiness, he noted that even Neville, whom he knew to be somewhat of an orphan like himself, was gone, presumably off to spend the day with his grandmother or some other relative. The Hall was unusually empty now, its vast and barren stillness punctuated only by the occasional flourish of a leftover dish or goblet popping away and Harry's own sigh as he brushed an untamable strand of hair from his eyes for the umpteenth time.

At last, feeling quite alone and knowing that he had a long dull day ahead of him, Harry made as if to stand up from the table but stopped short when someone came bustling back through the wide doors, long after everyone should have been gone. The student crossed the room quickly, fixated on his destination and looking rather angry, as Harry turned to stare at him, his green eyes curiously wide. Taking no notice of Harry's blatant gaze, the other student began to collect some papers and books left behind on the otherwise bare length of the Slytherin banquet table, muttering something unintelligible under his breath as he did so. Then, with a jolt as if struck by lightning, Draco Malfoy's cold, monochrome eyes met with Harry's own as the other boy realized he was not alone. His long, tense jaw snapped shut into a terse frown and his eyes seemed dangerous as they burned into Harry's, giving him a look that smoldered not like fire but like smothering, impenetrable smoke.

Malfoy was gone the next moment, his fast-paced footsteps sounding almost impertinently loud upon the stony floor as he made his way out of the Great Hall. He seemed in such a hurry to leave that he did not notice the slip of paper that fluttered out of the bunch in his hands and landed on the floor behind him. Quietly, Harry stood up and collected the item, compelled not by any noble desires to return it but by his natural suspicion of anything relating to the Malfoys. His eyes dragged across the parchment eagerly, almost desperately, as if to rake some muck off it, but he was disappointed to find that the page only detailed some technical notes, the sort Hermione would keep and he could not read without losing focus after a sentence or two… something about birds… still, he could not dismiss it as meaningless. Crumpling the piece of paper and stowing it haphazardly into his pocket, he sprinted after Malfoy, intending to follow him or confront him or who knows what, he hadn't thought that far ahead – and as Harry rounded the corner out of the Great Hall where Malfoy had vanished not too long before, he almost ran head first into Snape, only just skidding to a halt with the agility and dexterity of a Seeker.

"Ah, Mr. Potter," said Snape, each word slowly and deliberately enunciated as if it was only with great difficulty that he could bring himself to stoop to address the boy before him.

"Professor," Harry replied tersely and made as if to go around him, but Snape's arm darted out in front of Harry's face, his hand now pressed against the wall to Harry's right as the sleeve of his black cloak billowed down like a barrier between Harry and his intended destination. He had lost sight of Malfoy.

"And where do you think you're going?" Snape probed, his dark eyes peering at Harry unnervingly beneath strands of greasy hair.

"I'm—well, nowhere—I mean, that's none of your business, is it?" Harry concluded at last, indignant, and realized too late that this response probably made him look all the more suspicious. Snape's eyes narrowed.

"Hm. You haven't forgotten, Potter, that you were meant to be in my office five minutes ago?" he jeered.

"What?" was Harry's stupefied reply. He remembered no such thing; in fact, he was sure he had never known of it in the first place.

Snape smirked humorlessly, looking as if he had been expecting this answer. "But of course, you never see fit to pay attention. If you did, you would know that those who have deigned not to participate in today's extracurricular activities, namely, you, will be shadowing me instead," he said, as if he had been burdened with a very troublesome job or Harry had any choice in the matter.

"No! But that – that doesn't even make sense, you're a teacher and the students have all gone," Harry protested. He meant to say something more along the lines of 'that's a fate worse than death,' but wisely censored himself at the last moment. Snape still looked affronted, as essentially anything Harry said was inclined to do. "I haven't done anything wrong," Harry backtracked desperately, in a tone that sounded much like a plea for freedom.

"Defensive, are we? How telling," Snape said snidely, taking Harry by the collar of his school uniform and thrusting him in the direction of his office. Harry stumbled, caught his balance, and then stood there for a moment, fists clenched, before reluctantly beginning to walk downstairs. Snape kept a few paces behind him and just out of sight, so that Harry felt rather like a prisoner being held at wand-point as he was marched toward his dungeon prison. His assuredly horrible day, which he had imagined could not get much worse, was plummeting to new depths of unexpected depressiveness.

The dankness of the dungeon seemed to increase with every step, culminating when they neared the door to Snape's office, adjacent to the potions classroom and storeroom. Although Snape had recently been promoted to his much-coveted position of Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor, for some reason he had opted for the location of his main office and quarters to remain unchanged, perhaps because he was still the head of Slytherin house and their like resided in this wing of the school. Harry wasn't sure whether it was lingering potion fumes or Snape's general aura of uncleanliness, but it always seemed to stink down here. Perhaps the putridness was an illusion produced by the fact that Harry associated these rooms with numerous detentions and more recently tortuous Occulmency lessons, and he was sure today's excursion would be another uncomfortable, if not downright awful, memory to add to his already significant pile.

It was a dark and shadowy corner of the school, in which wall and floor and doors all blended into a singular entity, and so Harry started slightly when he discerned Malfoy's pointed features within the shadows of an inlet to the left of the entrance to the office, staring out at Harry and Snape with an austere and slightly wary expression. His arms were crossed, and the books and papers he had collected from the Great Hall were gone. Harry wondered if he had dropped them off in the Slytherin dormitories on the way here, and if so, how he'd had the time to do so. It was all very odd, if not undoubtedly dubious, and Harry felt his cagey barriers coming up for the mere fact that Malfoy was in his immediate vicinity.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, realizing the rudeness of his comment but not really caring.

Malfoy glared, but did not answer directly, only saying, "I have every right to be here, Potter, but as for whether you should have been admitted to Hogwarts, with your muddy bloodline and exceptional stupidity, that is a matter of debate."

"You—" Harry prepared for a furious retort, but was promptly cut off.

"Now, now, Potter, I suggest you hold your tongue." Snape gave Harry a look that conveyed immense scorn, meanwhile completely ignoring the much graver aspersions Draco had cast upon his person. Typical, Harry thought, fuming. "Malfoy will of course be accompanying me today, by personal and willing invitation, unlike some students," Snape explained with a pointed gaze at Harry. Then, with a silent flick of his wand, he unlocked the door to his office, which swung open in a creaky, shuddering way that felt very unwelcoming to Harry.

The older man entered the room first, briskly and with a flourish, the length of his dark robes fluttering behind him like a shadow as he summoned a few objects from his shelves to his desk without looking at them. Harry hung back, unwilling to enter, and only did so after Malfoy had brusquely pushed his way past him and halfway crossed the room, casting one disdainful look back at Harry before leaning against the wall, clearly feeling quite comfortable with his surroundings. At last Harry shuffled rather reluctantly into the room, jumping slightly when the door slammed immediately behind him and bumped the same shoulder Malfoy had rammed into just moments before, and as he rubbed the area that was sure to bruise he wondered if Snape had done that on purpose. Malfoy seemed to think so, for he was snickering appreciatively.

"Shut it, will you," Harry muttered, not so quietly that Malfoy couldn't hear him. Evidently Snape could hear him as well, because he turned to face Harry even though he had appeared not to be paying attention. Harry tensed under the coldly scrutinizing gaze in a sort of fight or flight reflex, leaning heavily toward the former as his temper flared, and he gritted out, "Well, if neither of us are keen on my being here, I could always leave."

"Nothing would make me happier. Unfortunately, even I answer to someone, that someone being the headmaster of Hogwarts. These are Dumbledore's orders, nothing less, and of course nothing more," Snape sneered, and Harry reeled at this latest revelation. On a day when students were supposed to be shadowing a parental figure, family friend, or respected role model, Dumbledore had offered Harry up to Snape, of all people, knowing how much they hated one another? He could understand if Dumbledore himself had taken him under his wing for the day, or if he had suggested that Harry spend the time sidling up to Slughorn, in order to further their mission… and if not that, then at least with McGonagall, or Hagrid, or any of the other professors, really… but Snape? That was beyond comprehension, not to mention normal human levels of cruelty.

Harry's shoulders shook for a moment like a building storm and then his arms fell lifelessly to his sides, all rage swept away and replaced with sodden betrayal. Malfoy was looking at him, but he did not return the gesture, opting instead to stare numbly at his well-worn, dirt-speckled trainers. All he could see out of the corner of his eye were the tips of Malfoy's dark leather shoes, one of them pointed in his direction, and although they didn't move, Harry somehow he got the impression that he was still being stared at. It felt much like a bug was buzzing around his head, and usually he would've snapped, but he couldn't muster more than a mild, tired sort of annoyance. After being so angry all day, and all the days leading up to this day, he was beginning to feel a bit drained.

Harry was unsurprised when Snape directed Malfoy to go over something with him at his desk, while Harry was relegated to sorting through a file cabinet in the corner. If anything, it was only surprising that Snape hadn't directed him to do something even more tedious or annoying, as time spent with Snape generally involved Harry being repeatedly bitten, stung, burned by acid, or otherwise tortured, punctuated by cutting remarks about his incompetence, and this was comparatively mundane. Actually, he was a bit grateful that he was being left to himself and allowed to regress into a state of silent almost-solitude. At first he had listened keenly to Snape's and Malfoy's quiet, sporadic conversation, wondering if they would say something that gave them away, but eventually he had realized that his suspicions, if not unfounded, were ill-suited to this context; of course they wouldn't be discussing Voldemort or Death Eaters or secret plans with Harry well within hearing distance. After coming to this conclusion, he attempted instead to focus all of his attention on the mind-numbing task before him, so that he might forget that he was stuck in a room with likely the two most insufferable gits in the entire universe.

This lasted for a few dragging and increasingly hushed hours, until there was a scraping sound and Harry looked up to see Snape rising from his chair. He announced that he would be back shortly and that they were not to leave this room, and as he left he shot Harry a warning look, as if to say that if he misbehaved, Gryffindor would be docked much more than the usual five points. Harry returned the gesture with an unhappy glower that more than matched Snape's in its threatening intensity.

As soon as the door shut, Malfoy discontinued his duties and stood up, opting instead to wander about the room, picking up objects, examining them, and then replacing them, all with abject boredom. He kept glancing at the door, as if concerned that Snape would come back or considering bolting, but perhaps that was only Harry projecting his own feelings onto his unwanted companion. Harry, conversely, pretended to continue sorting through papers despite his generally poor work ethic, if only because it was the exact opposite of what Malfoy was doing and that was something that had always appealed to him in and of itself. For the next few minutes Harry continued this valiant attempt to pay attention to his work, or to anything other than Malfoy as he moved loudly about the room, but he found himself considering the other boy nonetheless as he selected a bottle from the shelf, popped open the cork, sniffed at the contents, and then took a gulp.

"Hey!" Harry protested loudly, without really knowing why. If anyone else had done it, he probably would have laughed and goaded them on, amused that someone would have the flagrancy to break school rules, and moreover the gall to defile Snape's possessions in such a manner. Sure, Malfoy was and had always been a favorite of Snape's, but Harry nevertheless suspected that even Malfoy wouldn't remain unscathed if the perpetually uptight professor were to discover that someone had been rifling through his possessions, let alone using them.

"Come off it, Potter, it's only a bit of Fretless potion, not worth more than a pittance. Professor Snape owes me at least that much for forcing me to spend the day cooped up in here with you… won't let me alone for a moment, will he, you two at least have that much in common…" Malfoy trailed off, as if talking to himself, and Harry was quite surprised to hear him badmouthing Snape in such a manner, when Snape was known to favor him and Malfoy gladly played the teacher's pet. Then, as if realizing that he had accidentally revealed some unwanted secret to Harry, Malfoy cleared his throat with a soft, oddly well-mannered sound and refocused. "You would do well to keep your stupid mouth shut when you don't even know what you're talking about," Malfoy concluded deridingly as he gave a scoff in Harry's general direction, and he sat directly on Snape's desk, setting the bottle of grayish liquid beside him on the oaken, paper-littered surface.

"It's only a bit of what?" Harry asked before he could stop himself, inadvertently lending some credibility to the accusation, and of course Malfoy caught it. He may have been mediocre on the Quidditch pitch, but when it came to picking out Harry's flaws, he certainly excelled.

"You don't even know what Fretless potion is? You really are stupid." Malfoy smirked for a moment, but his features quickly fell back into that bored, half-distracted sort of expression that he often carried nowadays. Somehow it made Harry want to drop the argument.

"Whatever, I don't care what happens to you anyway, just don't try to lay the blame on me," was Harry's only reply, his tone more bored than antagonizing, and he returned to his work once more.

"And when have I ever done that," Malfoy said facetiously and took another swig from the small, unlabeled bottle, looking off into the distance with an abstract expression that almost resembled amusement, but surely Harry was imagining that.

"Oh, you've only been trying to get me in trouble everyday for the past five years or so, no big deal really," Harry answered in an equally backhanded manner as he opened up another file and rifled through the contents, picking out the documents corresponding to a certain time period as he had been instructed to do.

"No big deal," Malfoy repeated, sniggering as he took another drink.

"What is that?" Harry asked again, his annoyance building.

"Why don't you find out for yourself?"

Before Harry had even begun to comprehend this reply, Malfoy threw the bottle over to him, perhaps with more force than necessary, and Harry caught it reflexively, just before it managed to hit him full in the face. Malfoy snickered again, and Harry scowled.

"What are you playing at?" he said, looking back and forth between Malfoy's expectant expression and the bottle he now held in his hands, his own expression one of unconcealed contempt and suspicion. Unlike Harry, whose preferred approach was to act now and think later, Malfoy was a Slytherin and as such was much more inclined to calculate, scheme, and plot in all the wrong directions. He wouldn't put it past Malfoy to have ulterior motives in mind; in fact, it would be odder if he didn't have any.

"Scared, Potter?" Malfoy sneered in deliberate provocation, and Harry's hackles rose at the challenge.

"Scared? You wish. I'm not a coward like you," Harry replied, uncorking the bottle and taking an obstinate swig, and immediately regretted it. The liquid tasted well enough, and there was no immediate effect, but he knew his rashness had played right into Malfoy's hand. There was no doubt about it now, Malfoy was smiling as Harry tossed the bottle back to him, an expression that sent an unpleasant sensation through Harry's body, or maybe that was the potion finally taking effect. His stomach suddenly seemed to drop, and then warmth rushed through his body all at once. It was as if he had just drunk a large amount of Butterbeer, clearing his mind of all worries and rationalizations and leaving only raw emotions behind… he felt unexpectedly content, considering the circumstances.

"Well," Harry said, thinking that he understood the nature of this "fret-less" potion at last, but feeling a bit confused as to why Malfoy would give it to him if it didn't do something bad.

"If you could see the look on your face," Malfoy laughed again, not kindly, but this time Harry felt the tuggings of a bemused smile at his own lips and fought to repress it.

"I think you should have this back as well, it's yours," Harry said with a sudden sense of generosity as he took out the ball of paper that lay concealed in his pocket and passed it over to Malfoy in spite of himself, as if propelled by some force outside his body. No, don't give it to him, that could be important!, part of him urged, but the larger part of him could have no worries at all and so was eager to unburden himself by handing over the parchment that so concerned him. Had Malfoy seen him pick it up, was that why he had followed him to Snape's office, why he had given him this uninhibiting potion to drink? Was all of this part of some greater, grimmer plan?, Harry wondered, but detachedly, and he did pursue the matter any further in mind or in words.

Malfoy's eyebrows were raised high in similar perplexion as he smoothed out the crumpled parchment out on the thigh of his black, iron-lined trousers and then he flushed, folding the paper quickly but much more carefully than Harry had and placing it in his own pocket. His posture seemed decidedly more rigid as he looked back at Harry, accentuating his tallness and his thinness, had he always looked so haggardly thin? – but then as if unable to resist, Malfoy relaxed again. "My family keeps a lot of birds – owls, peacocks…" he said casually, as if by way of explanation.

"That looked more like a canary to me," Harry countered.

"I didn't say we didn't have a canary, did I?" Malfoy replied, his voice a little higher than usual, and for some reason Harry accepted this statement at face value, shrugging his shoulders slightly and adjusting his glasses before grabbing another file folder from the cabinet. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Malfoy suppress a yawn, rubbing at his steep under-eye circles with one hand, and then the blonde crossed the room to replace the now nearly empty bottle upon the shelf. He made as if to return to his designated position upon Snape's desk, then seemed to reconsider, pointing his wand at the vial and murmuring something that sounded rather Romanesque.

Harry gasped.

"What? What is it?" Malfoy said, looking around himself in a bit of a panic; in his distraction, the refilling charm he had directed at the Fretless potion was miscast, and numerous bottles cracked and began to bubble and overflow. Malfoy cursed under his breath and began to wave his wand hastily back and forth in an attempt to reverse the damage. Normally Harry would have been in stitches, but he was only barely aware that this was going on beyond the world of the piece of paper that he now held in front of his face, so close that it almost touched his nose and his glasses threatened to throw the text out of focus and proportion. Harry's heartbeat was racing right out of his chest with a th-thump, th-thump much louder than horse hooves, and he licked his lips and swallowed a few times, feeling parched even though he had just had a drink, for he was unable to take in the words and pictures dancing on the page in front of him quickly enough to quench his thirst for them.

It was an article from an old school newspaper, one which must have gone out of print long before Harry's time at Hogwarts, headlined with the words Lily Evans Saves the Day in golden print that still glittered as if it had only just been painted onto the page. His young mother wore a prefect's badge and smiled somewhat awkwardly at the camera while holding up a mangled, spiky object that Harry construed to be some dark and dangerous creature, looking very much like a fisherman showing off his greatest catch of the day. Suddenly she glanced at what she held in her hands, her pretty features scrunching up in something resembling pity or revulsion, and then she smiled again as the picture repeated in its infinite loop, beyond the restraints of time or even death. In this picture, his mother still lived, her accomplishments fresh, her smile unequaled in its brilliance, her red hair shining and her like green eyes… her tentative sense of pride seemed to amplify as it flowed into Harry and found a solid home in his heart, and he smiled at her as much as to himself.

"What have you got there, Potter? You look like a dope, not that that's unusual…" Malfoy snatched the paper away, and Harry instantly burst.

"Give that back, Malfoy, you have no right—!"

"Ah, your Mudblood mother, is it?" Malfoy mused coolly as Harry scrambled to his feet, his fury so great that it superseded the feelings of cheery calm that the potion tried to push upon him in relentless waves, like water that expected pliant sand coming into contact with immovable, jagged rock in its stead.

"Don't you dare call her that—"

"Pity she couldn't be here today to fulfill her parental duties. Here you are all alone at Hogwarts, no one to go home to, no one who cares enough to—" That was all Malfoy managed before Harry tackled him, the cruel, taunting voice rearranging itself into a pained grunt as Harry threw his body against the blonde's with full force and grabbed ripping and clawing for the paper. The shelf rattled as Malfoy collided with it, and there was the sound of something falling off and shattering as he struggled to free himself from his entrapment behind Harry's bulkier, more athletic build, but Harry did not give the broken object even a fleeting look, continuing to stare into Malfoy's silvery eyes with a cold and unforgiving expression as he snatched back the paper that contained his mother's photograph with his free hand.

Rather than releasing Malfoy immediately, Harry pushed the back of his forearm further into Malfoy's throat, unable to control himself and finding that he delighted in Malfoy's terrified expression as he tried to prise Harry off, even though it disgusted him at the same time. When this didn't work, Malfoy threw himself against Harry's arm even though it choked him further, acting much like a trapped animal trying to sever its own limb in its desperation. Malfoy liked to talk tough, but when it came down to it, he was a coward, and this was proof enough.

"My mother loved me," Harry said matter-of-factly. "My parents would be here with me if they could, unlike yours, who handed you off to Snape the first chance they had. No one can stand you, not your parents, not your sorry excuses for friends, not the teachers, not me – no, I reckon you can't even stand yourself." And with that, Harry released him. Malfoy coughed and rubbed at his reddened throat, the abused area standing out starkly upon the expanse of pale skin that peeked out from between the pure white collar of his school uniform. He loosened his tie with trembling fingers, as if still deprived of an adequate air supply, his eyes mad and slightly watery as they stared back at Harry, incredulous and accusing and perhaps wounded.

"Don't lecture me about matters you couldn't possibly understand," Malfoy said at last, his voice soft and choked and broken up, but as such it was very sharp. "You don't know a thing about my family. You don't know what we have to go through, what I have to… you don't know…"

Harry was slightly unnerved by this response and took another step back, but answered with due coolness, "And you don't know a thing about me or my family, so shove off and mind your own business for once, will you."

"That's rich, coming from you," Malfoy counterattacked, his canines bared in an ugly way as he curled his thin, pallid lip at Harry. "You think that I don't know you've been following me around the school? You think that I don't notice you watching me, every little thing I do, judging me?" He removed the folded piece of parchment from his pocket, brandishing the asinine notes about the physical and magical properties of pet birds as if this was proof of Harry's unfounded, lunatic pursuit. Harry could only clutch the newspaper article about his mother closer to his chest and cast Malfoy a withering look, feeling rather as if they were having a wandless duel that revolved around unspoken words even more so than the spoken ones, and most of all the words printed on these two separate sheets of paper, one held by Malfoy and one by Harry, that strangely seemed to mirror one another, to be connected by some common but invisible, untouchable thread…

The door creaked and groaned as it opened, and Harry and Malfoy darted apart like lovers caught in an unspeakable act. Malfoy shoved his notes back into his pocket, sheltered behind the breadth of Harry's body, as Harry turned around, only able to hide the newspaper behind his back as he came face to face with Snape. Part of him was relieved to no longer be alone with Draco Malfoy, who could rile him up worse than perhaps anybody else on this earth could, but the greater part of him was frazzled and distressed by Snape's sudden reappearance.

The unpleasant man looked back and forth between the two of them, one dark eyebrow arched in a scrutinizing way, and Harry felt quite sure that Snape had seen the object in his hands, had felt Snape's eyes linger on it for the barest of moments... Harry's heart thumped loudly, and he was painfully aware of the fact that Malfoy still stood just behind him, well within an arm's length, and at any moment he would snatch the parchment away again and show it off to Snape, have it taken away from Harry and hidden where he could never retrieve it, even though it was so important to him, even though this was his mother and nobody else's, and this was one of the few artifacts he had that proved she had existed at all and gave a glimpse into who she had been…

But nothing happened, and at last Snape said, "I presume you have finished the task I set you, Mr. Potter, since you are no longer working on it?" He paused, and then emphasized, "You've looked through all of it; all of it, down to the last?"

Harry nodded mutely and perhaps overly eagerly, but Snape did not object, turning his inscrutable eyes instead to a place over his shoulder. "And you, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Yes, professor," Malfoy answered, an edge to his voice that Harry could not quite interpret without seeing his expression. It made him incredibly uneasy to have his back to his archnemesis of sorts, especially considering the circumstances, and so he shifted on his feet repeatedly, as if his broken in, half-tied shoes had suddenly become uncomfortably tight.

"Very well… you may go, both of you," Snape said finally, as if acknowledging Harry's desire to run, though Harry attributed this to sheer coincidence rather than to any act of kindness. It took all his effort not to sprint from the room, but still he walked faster than normal, feeling rather exposed with the newspaper still out in the open and wishing every moment that he had worn his robes today so that he had something to hide it behind. How could Snape not have noticed?

Harry cast one look back as he exited the room, but Snape still did not comment, pointing his wand instead at the broken object that lay smashed upon the stone floor of his office and not even scolding Harry for having broken it. For the first time Harry wondered why Snape had a newspaper article about his mother in his possession in the first place, but not wanting to push his odd luck, Harry hastened his retreat from the office with his newly discovered memento clasped tightly in his hands as well as new questions formulating in his mind, ones that he was unsure he would ever get an answer to… but with each step, these worries seemed less and less pressing. Perhaps he was comforted by the distance he was placing between himself and his self-determined enemies, or perhaps the potion, if it was still in effect, was rubbing off the edges, blurring all boundaries in the process.

As he headed toward the stairs leading back to the Great Hall, he heard the unique pattern of Malfoy's footsteps clopping off in the opposite direction, a sound he had half-memorized in his time at Hogwarts. Smiling to himself, Harry looked again at the clipping that contained his mother's picture and set about to see if Ron and Hermione were home yet. Before, he had planned to avoid them for as long as possible, dreading the stories they were sure to tell about their happy day without him; now, he couldn't wait to show them what he had found, although he was unsure if he could ever put into words exactly what had occurred that day.


End file.
